Banishment
by Raserei Hojo
Summary: Another take on the story of Zuko's three years at sea with Iroh and his crew.
1. Year 1, Week 1: Toward the Ocean

With the weight of the world on his shoulders, the banished Prince Zuko stepped beyond the threshold of the Fire Nation's capital and out of the volcano's crater. He was silent, his feet dragging as he descended down the zigzagging slope of Caldera. The ground evened out in front of him as skull-masked Fire Nation soldiers led the way to the harbor which had seemed so far away not too long ago.

He could hear the sounds of the soldiers' footsteps, both in front of him and in the rear, always in sync. Yet the most distinctive footsteps he heard, even as he and the large group of soldiers passed through the busy royal plaza, were the heavy-footed steps of his uncle. He focused on those sonorous, yet gentle rhythmic steps as an excuse to avoid the dirty looks the crowded plaza was giving him.

Their whispers sounded more like a swarm of cave-hoppers and Zuko wished more than anything to be unable to make out the words his people were saying. _To __think Prince Zuko would disrespect his father like that—He got what was coming to him—Look at that awful wound on his face—Why is General Iroh accompanying him?_

Zuko wondered if all of them knew what they were talking about. Some of the gathered people looked familiar from the audience of the Agni Kai, but he couldn't be sure. After all, he hadn't been very focused on the crowd at hand. He hadn't heard the announcement of his banishment himself, so he was surprised to hear that many murmurs about it in the first place; it was if the whole island knew. His speaking out against the general and thus in turn his father had been labeled as an act of treason_—_that much he knew. Were the people of the Fire Nation so disgusted because they'd been told his actions were treasonous or was it because of something else? Did they know _why _he was wearing the gauze on his face? Was such a severe punishment really acceptable in the eyes of his people?

Whether his people knew the reasoning behind his banishment or not, they pretended like the wound on his face had made him deaf, that their words didn't cut him deeply. Why didn't they understand he hadn't _meant _to disrespect his father? He'd called out the general's plan in the war room, and with good reason—it was absolutely barbaric. Zuko had thought it cruel to sacrifice the lives of so many men simply to enable an ambush. Able-bodied men who loved their country and willingly fought in the war to protect it.

And yet...

And yet, he'd been punished for it. By insulting the war general, he'd insulted his father. As if to add salt to the wound, he had refused to fight his father out of love and respect, yet his father had not returned the favor. Were his words spoken in the war room really that bad? Was this how the world was supposed to work, by selfishly reaching for every opportunity presented, regardless of whether or not that opportunity could hurt others?

If only he could take back those words. If only he could prove to his father that deep down he _was _Fire Lord Ozai's loyal son. But it was too late for that. They were already through the royal plaza and in the center of the harbor city.

Zuko could already see it—the small naval battleship that would be his home until he found the Avatar. Under any other circumstance, receiving such a gift from the Fire Lord would have been an honor. It would have been proof that Zuko was worthwhile, that his father was pleased with him and loved him.

He had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying openly as he and the soldiers came to a halt in front of the boarding dock. He forced himself to hold his head high and kept his hands balled into fists at his sides. All the while his arms and legs shook. Perhaps today he was a banished prince, but he would leave with dignity—he would not insult his father further. Soon, he would return with the Avatar and regain his honor.

"This is where _you_ get off," said the captain of the soldiers, his voice booming. "Once you pass through Azulon's Gate, you won't be allowed reentry. You understand that?"

Zuko nodded firmly as he tried to ignore how uneasy that skull mask made him feel, even as his stomach did a funny little flip. The mask made the captain's face shadowy, shrouding whatever emotion the captain might have had upon his face in darkness. That was probably for the better, though. It was bad enough to hear the nasty tone in the captain's voice; he didn't need to see it on his face, too. To think that just two days ago, the sight of these soldiers had made him feel safe.

"You'll find your crew waiting for you," the captain continued. Under his breath, Zuko heard him mutter: "Poor souls."

The soldiers parted, making space for Zuko to board the ship and then circled behind him just in case their banished prince decided he wouldn't leave peacefully. Time seemed to stand still for Zuko as he remained there on the dock, unable to make his legs move.

_I have to be brave_, he told himself. _This is my punishment and I need to accept it like a man. The longer I stay here, the longer it will take me to find the Avatar._

He took a deep, steadying breath and moved one step forward.

"Prince Zuko," came Iroh's gentle voice from behind as he placed a large hand on Zuko's shoulder. "This journey will not be forever. Someday, you will see your home again. Keep in mind that this is simply a temporary leave."

He knew his uncle was only trying to help, but that wasn't what he needed to hear. Words like that made him feel sentimental. Weak-willed. They made him want to turn around and run back to the royal palace, collapse onto his knees in front of his father and beg for forgiveness again.

Zuko jerked away from Iroh and said tersely over his shoulder, "I know that." He walked purposefully up the iron bridge and onto the deck of his new ship without looking back. Zuko had already convinced himself that setting his eyes upon the Fire Nation broke the terms of his banishment.

He waited, breath trapped in his throat, for the footsteps of his uncle to follow. It was tempting to turn his head around to make sure Iroh hadn't changed his mind, but he resisted. Even if his uncle _had _changed his mind, nothing else would change. He would still find and capture the Avatar. He _would _regain his honor, with or without help.

But that determination didn't stop Zuko from breathing out a quiet sigh of relief when he heard those heavy, familiar footsteps. Then his breath nearly hitched again when he realized the Fire Nation soldiers hadn't left yet.

_They're going to make sure I really do leave_, he thought bitterly. They didn't trust him.

A group of roughly twenty men appeared from beneath the deck—his crew. Zuko looked at them, studying them, trying to imagine himself being with these men for the next few weeks of his life. His first impression was that they were _old_. The youngest crew member on that ship couldn't have been any younger than forty. However, Zuko knew that with age came both experience and strength, so there was nothing to complain about.

Besides, he wasn't on this ship to make friends. He was there to find the Avatar. Apart from that goal, he highly doubted he had anything else in common with them.

"Allow me to make the introductions," said Iroh. His charisma seemed to attract the attention of not only the ship's crew, but of the Fire Nation soldiers as well. "I recognize many of you from my time as a general," he continued, an odd kind of sad smile on his face.

This was apparently true as the majority of the men nodded in agreement. Iroh arranged the crew into a single file line and one by one led them up to Zuko. Each crew member was asked to state his name, his job on the ship, talk a bit about his family and offer up his favorite color and his tea preferences.

Zuko only paid attention to their names and jobs, his mouth set in a stony frown as crew member after crew member seemed to give their life story. He had no idea why his uncle was treating this as a vacation. In case Iroh hadn't noticed, the ship wasn't going to Ember Island. It wasn't even going to be returning to the Fire Nation for weeks. Everyone on the ship would be at sea. The only other Fire Nation members they might see would be those from the colonies in the Earth Kingdom.

When the last member of the crew finished up with an exclamation that his favorite color was ruby red, Zuko tried not to roll his eyes. He turned to head to the helm so he, his uncle and the helmsman could chart out a course, but Iroh placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"We're not finished yet, Prince Zuko. I believe it is my turn." Despite how serious the words themselves sounded, the smile on Iroh's face was surprisingly gentle, even as he cast a glance at the guards still on land.

Zuko stared up at his uncle, absolutely flabbergasted. "What?"

Iroh cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. "My name is Iroh, though some like to call me the Dragon of the West. As most of you are aware, I have retired from my job as general, so no formal title will be necessary. My _new_ job is to accompany my nephew on his journey to find the Avatar."

By that point, Zuko wanted to slam his face into the ship's bowsprit in sheer frustration. He knew who Iroh was. _Everyone _on the ship knew who Iroh was or had at least head of him. Everyone in the entire Fire Nation knew who he was!

"Uncle, we're wasting time," said Zuko, his voice anxious.

"Prince Zuko, patience is something we will all need to have. The Avatar has been missing for nearly a hundred years; I am sure he won't mind waiting a few more minutes before we set off." He cleared his throat.

Zuko crossed his arms firmly over his chest and stared aside, careful to avoid the direction of the soldiers circled around the boarding dock.

"Where was I...? Ah, yes," continued Iroh. "At the moment, my family consists of my brother Fire Lord Ozai, my niece Princess Azula and my nephew here, Prince Zuko. My favorite color... I believe that may be a tough one. I_ am _very fond of the color beige right now... And as for my tea preferences... I like my tea to be quite hot. Ginseng is my favorite."

Zuko couldn't manage to stifle a groan as his crew murmured in approval. The more time they spent making introductions, the more time the Avatar had to reinforce his hiding spot. Or worse, grow too old and die. If the Avatar died for any reason, Zuko would have to begin his search all over again. The Avatar would be born into either the Northern or Southern Water Tribe. The Southern Water Tribe would be easy enough to infiltrate to capture the Avatar, but getting into the Northern Water Tribe would be nearly impossible. Zuko's only hope was that the Avatar lived long enough for him to capture and give him to his Father.

"Are we done now?" Zuko asked as he faced his uncle again, unable to hide the impatience in his voice. He felt antsy and there was a tight feeling in his chest. If they could just start the journey, he was positive he would feel better.

Unfortunately, the crew and Iroh all looked at him. Iroh's personality had already infected the morale of the ship. Zuko sighed and resigned himself to introducing himself to everyone on board. Whatever made them happy enough to lift the anchors and get going. The Fire Nation soldiers _still _hadn't left, either.

"My name is Zuko, former Crown Prince of the Fire Nation." Saying 'former' Crown Prince felt like a sharp jab in the gut. "My job on this ship is to direct all of you and to find the Avatar. Uncle already talked about my family so it doesn't matter."

He looked at the crew and his uncle, all of whom still looked expectant. With his hands balled into even tighter fists at his side, he forced out the rest of his introduction. "My favorite color is gold and I _don't_ like tea." He pointed to the helmsman of the ship. "Now can we _please _chart a course?"

"Don't like tea?" Iroh repeated. He sounded absolutely mortified.

The helmsman, despite his apparent irritation at Zuko's impatience, nodded his head anyway. He turned toward the helm and beckoned for Zuko and Iroh to follow him into the small, lantern lit command tower. In mere seconds, Zuko was at the helmsman's heels.

"Get back to work, everyone else," he called over his shoulder. "And lift the anchor! I'll have our first destination in mind before we pass through Azulon's Gate."

At first, no one moved. It wasn't until Iroh gave them a quick pleading stare that they scattered and returned to their jobs. Thankfully, Zuko didn't seem to mind—or perhaps he hadn't noticed—the short delay between his orders and the crew taking action.

"So, Prince Zuko," said Iroh as he finally approached. "Where to first?"

The helmsman silently handed Zuko a map of the world, something that would soon find itself covered in Xs. Zuko pored over the map, staring at it so intensely that it seemed to be in danger of bursting into flames. Yet somehow, Zuko was able to maintain his inner fire and, after a few brief moments, jabbed his index finger northwest of the Fire Nation.

The ship shook suddenly as the anchor was raised. The helmsman took the wheel and just moments later, the ship lurched forward toward Azulon's Gate. Though it was a distant sound, Zuko could hear the guards finally leaving the harbor; knowing they were gone filled him with a strange kind of relief.

"We'll begin at the Western Air Temple," he said as confidently as he could manage. "It's as good as any other place to start."

"It's also the closest," said the helmsman.

The flames inside the lanterns in the room suddenly intensified. "Are you calling me _lazy_?"

"Now, Prince Zuko," said Iroh quietly, "I am sure he is just stating a fact."

"He better be," was Zuko's sharp reply. The flames returned to their normal height. Through the windows in the command tower, the pillars of Azulon's Gate passed by. Just a few more seconds and he would be out of Fire Nation land. At least he would still be in Fire Nation _territory_, though he knew that wouldn't be the case for long.

"I've decided our destination," Zuko announced, his voice loud as he stomped out of the command tower and toward the center of the ship. "We're going to the Western Air Temple! If he isn't there, we'll head southeast to the Southern Air Temple! If he isn't there either, we'll have to stop by an Earth Kingdom colony to replenish our supply of coal." With an expression he hoped was that of someone in control, he craned his head to look back at the helmsman. "Got that?"

"Got it," the helmsman muttered.

"Uncle," said Zuko suddenly. "Show me to my cabin."

"Yes, Prince Zuko. But you should know that I feel it would be wise to check your injury before settling in. It has only been two days since the incident and your bandages have not been changed since yesterday morning."

With a huff, Zuko forced out a "Fine," and followed Iroh back into the command tower and up two flights of stairs.


	2. Year 1, Week 1: Bandages

Zuko was glad there wasn't a mirror in the room he would call his bedroom for the next few weeks. He had no desire to accidentally catch a glimpse of what he looked like. There was already an image of his disfigurement in his mind, but Zuko was positive the actual mark was much worse than anything he could ever imagine, even in his darkest nightmares. It had to be if the tenderness of it was anything to go by.

With the speed of a snail-sloth, Iroh gently peeled away the gauze protecting the injury as Zuko sat on the foot of his bed. Every grimace and gasp of pain Zuko made seemed to slow the older man's actions down even further. Zuko would have suggested ripping the gauze off quickly, but they both knew that would only worsen his injury.

Try as he might to subdue it, Zuko's curiosity of what his uncle's reaction would be refused to be stifled. He watched, head bowed and eyes raised as his uncle worked. When the gauze was removed at long last, Iroh merely closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"That bad?"

"You are lucky my brother's fire did not reach the bones in your face," murmured Iroh as he opened his eyes. "Despite the close range, the burns are not as severe as they could have been. In due time, you will heal. Until then, however, keep your injured eye rested. Unnecessary strain on it will only cause further damage."

That wasn't something Zuko needed to be told. Trying to move his left eye just to blink, or even beneath the gauze made pain radiate through half his face; it was a lesson he'd learned the hard way and keeping it closed was the only thing he could do to prevent further pain.

Zuko winced from the stinging that was now pulsating from the left side of his face. From the feel of it, open air wasn't a good thing for fresh burn wounds. "Is there any salve on the ship?"

"No, Prince Zuko. Well, I'm sure there is, but it would be unwise to put any ointment on your wound until the blisters have healed. If we put anything on it now, it is likely to become infected and that is not something you need to experience."

To be honest, he'd only asked because of the pain. He knew salve wasn't going to make it heal any faster, but numbing it would have helped a great deal. He decided that if he couldn't numb the pain he would simply have to tough it out.

He remained silent as Iroh quietly excused himself to fetch a bucket of water along with a few wash cloths and listened to the sound of his uncle's footsteps bouncing off the metal interior of the ship.

With Iroh gone, the heaviness of his position began to weigh on Zuko's shoulders. There he was, barely three hours into his formal exile, and he already wanted to go home. While he wasn't technically alone—far from it with twenty crew members and his uncle on board—he _felt _alone. His father hadn't even come to bid him farewell—not that Zuko had expected him to actually do that. Azula hadn't come either, though he had been sure she would. After all, it was the most dishonorable day in his life. Why _wouldn't _Azula be there to see her brother being treated like a criminal? The saddest day of his life was sure to be the happiest day in Azula's.

But his uncle had come. His uncle had supported him, a treasonous enemy of the Fire Nation. Zuko hadn't even asked it of him. The moment he had been escorted from the infirmary, Iroh had greeted him solemnly with the news of his banishment. Just like he'd done earlier with the crew, Iroh had made it sound like a vacation. _I'll be coming with you_, he'd said. _So don't worry, Prince Zuko. I will make sure that you are safe and well cared for._

His uncle had even offered to retract the offer if it wasn't what Zuko had wanted, but why would anyone in his position deny that offer? If Iroh hadn't come, he'd be on the ship with a crew that was unlikely to listen to any order he gave. They didn't think of him as a leader yet and a group without a leader inevitably would fall to pieces. Yet he felt guilt. Guilt over allowing his uncle to follow through with a self-imposed banishment. By following Zuko on his quest to find and capture the Avatar, Iroh was leaving behind everything. The rest of his family, wealth, power...

At least he knew that if he _did _find the Avatar, if he wasn't strong enough to defeat and capture him alone, Iroh would take care of the Avatar in Zuko's place. Wait, _if _he caught the Avatar? No, _when_. _When_ he caught the Avatar.

He closed both of his eyes and imagined what that day would be like. He'd bring the elderly Avatar, bound tightly in chains, home to his father. As an added bonus, he'd give an extra present to his father as well, some special possession of the Avatar. Then his father would forgive him. Restore his honor. Allow him to take his place as Crown Prince once more.

It would be a glorious day.

"You must be having quite the day dream," Iroh announced from the doorway, startling Zuko.

"I was just thinking about capturing the Avatar... and the satisfaction I'll bring my father when I bring him home. When _I_ return home."

To Zuko's surprise, his uncle's face didn't fill with the happiness he'd expected. If anything, it almost looked like sorrow as he set the bucket of water on the floor. Iroh sat beside his nephew and the bed immediately sagged beneath their combined weight.

"I see," was all Iroh said before he dipped the washcloth into the water, wrung it out and brought it to Zuko's face. "This is going to sting a little."

"I'm ready."

He wasn't. The feel of the cold wash cloth against the bleeding blisters on his face caused him excruciating pain. He groaned through clenched teeth as Iroh patted away the blood. As much as Zuko knew this was necessary and as much as he knew the pain was only temporary, he wanted to beg his uncle to stop. Knowing he couldn't, he clutched the thin bed sheets in his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white.

In the end, he managed to endure the pain. He kept his teeth clenched and his fingers curled around the sheets the entire time Iroh cleaned his wound and patted it dry. Even when Iroh applied fresh gauze and secured it with a length of tied cloth, Zuko's entire body was tense.

"All finished," Iroh declared as he patted Zuko on the back. "You bore the pain considerably well, my nephew."

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to pull his knees against his chest and hug them. _Be brave_, he told himself. _This isn't permanent. None of this is permanent._

"How long until the Western Air Temple, Uncle?"

Iroh folded his hands in his lap before responding. "It will take roughly five days to get there. Three by ship and two by foot. Unfortunately, getting there is the easy part. _Finding _it is another matter entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"The Western Air Temple is notorious for being well-hidden. I have never been there myself, but our ancestors have."

Zuko knew what his uncle was implying. There were no longer any Air Nomads left—apart from the Avatar, at least—because the soldiers of his grandfather Azulon and his great-grandfather Sozin had already wiped them out. And, in order to do that, the soldiers needed to have found the temple.

"So as you might imagine," Iroh continued, "it is a possible task. Difficult, but possible. Actually, I have heard that after a certain point, following a map is useless."

"I understand," said Zuko with a nod.

Five days to get to the Western Air Temple. Three or four days of tearing that temple apart piece by piece—brick by brick—to make sure the Avatar wasn't hiding somewhere in the rubble. If he wasn't there, then he would take the ship southeast to the Southern Air Temple. He wondered how long it would take to get there from the Western Air Temple. If he was lucky, perhaps a week. If he was unlucky—as was usually the case—maybe twelve days. It was hard to tell, though. This was his first time out at sea. His first time away from the Fire Nation. The map now resting on the pillow of his bed was so tiny in comparison to the girth of the real world.

"Well then," said Iroh, his voice suddenly lighthearted. "Now that we've gotten that all taken care of, how about some dinner? I hear they're serving roast duck for our first day out at sea. I also made sure there were plenty of tea leaves to steep so we could have fresh hot tea later!"

"I think I'll pass," said Zuko, waving his hand dismissively. He was positive his stomach couldn't handle food at the moment. Besides, he didn't even _like _roast duck. _Or _tea of any kind. For being so adamant about everyone on the ship introducing themselves, his uncle sure was a poor listener.

However, Zuko was surprised when Iroh didn't press the matter much further. "Okay, but don't forget that a growing boy needs his nourishment. If you're hungry later, the dining hall is three floors down on the port side of the ship. It's a big room; you can't miss it!"

Although he nodded once, Zuko had no intention of going there. He didn't have time to be stuffing his face with food. He needed to practice. To train. The Avatar was the master of all four elements, after all. He needed to be ready.

Iroh stood and the bed seemed not to sag quite so much, but it failed to return to its original position. The sudden lack of weight made Zuko feel inexplicably lonely, but he remained silent and kept his gaze locked on the metal floor of the ship.

"If you need me, my room is two doors to the right. Or starboard if you prefer using nautical terms now that we are at sea."

Zuko nodded again. "Okay."

Iroh was silent for a moment. Zuko may not have been looking at his uncle, but he could feel that Iroh wanted to say something to him. That _something _was probably going to be helpful advice tinged with something pessimistic... like reporting that the chances of finding the Avatar were low.

But Iroh said nothing. Zuko could feel his uncle's sad smile on him before he heard footsteps slowly swivel and walk away, leaving him completely alone.


	3. Year 1, Week 1: Training Past Sparks

Fireballs shot haphazardly into the night sky. They were small, pitiful fireballs that dissipated mere feet past Zuko's hands. The ones generated by his feet weren't much better. His fireballs been far larger during the day and almost impressive around high noon. He knew it meant he lacked training and discipline for his firebending to vary so greatly between the times of day, but it was a fact he had trouble accepting.

If he kept practicing—just a little longer and then he'd stop for the evening—he would overcome the minor obstacle of the sun hiding beneath the horizon. So he kept at it, pushing his body until his muscles _burned _with pain. He kept telling himself _just one more set_ over and over. _Just one more, then I'll stop. Once I see an improvement..._

But the longer he went through his sets of firebending forms, the smaller his fireballs became. Zuko wanted to attribute his problems to the moon, but he knew it was nearly dawn. With the sun rising, his firebending should have been _improving_, not growing weaker.

Determined to complete a set with stronger firebending, he jumped into the air and swung his left leg forward in an arc as an act of frustration. A small burst of fire shot forward. Small. Pathetic. He landed heavily on his right leg, stumbled back, then finally lost his balance and fell backward onto his rear.

Zuko sat there, his non-gauzed eye wide. He was breathing heavily, sweat trickling down his arms and forehead. Why? Why wasn't he as good as his sister? She was two years younger than him and already everyone was calling her a prodigy. A master of fire at only _eleven_. She was still getting better as the days passed, too. Just a few days before his banishment, Zuko remembered Azula showing off her firebending. The flames were _blue_, hotter than even their father's fire.

Yet here he was, sitting on the deck of this century old ship, barely making anything other than a few sparks. An _embarrassment _to the Royal Family in more ways than one. Zuko leaned forward and pressed his palms against the floor of the deck, then pushed himself into a half-standing position. He took a few steps forward, ready to begin the previous set anew, but he stumbled again, forward this time, and landed hard on his knees.

"Why can't I do it?" He angrily pounded the floor with his right fist, sending out a flurry of tiny sparks.

The floorboards creaked behind him and Zuko immediately craned his neck. Relief washed over him when he saw it was only Iroh emerging from below deck, hands folded in front of him and hidden from view with heavy sleeves. It was bad enough the crewmen patrolling the deck saw his miserable attempts at firebending; he didn't want the cook or the engineer to see him, too. At least Zuko knew his uncle wouldn't judge him. His uncle would give him advice on how to better his skills.

"Prince Zuko, you look exhausted."

"I'm fine. I just want to do a few more sets before retiring for the day."

Iroh looked at his nephew seriously, a firm frown etched onto his face. "That is exactly what you said last night. But you did _not _retire. You trained until dawn and you're trying to do it again. Listen to me, my nephew. You cannot put your body through this. You are still recovering. You need rest. You need to _eat_, Prince Zuko."

"I said I'm fine!"

This wasn't what Zuko wanted to hear. He didn't have time to sit in the cafeteria—or the mess hall—or whatever it was called and stuff his face with roast duck and noodle soup. The Avatar was over a hundred years old. Master of all four elements. Zuko knew better than to let the Avatar's age fool him; many of them lived over two hundred years. If anything, the Avatar was in his _prime_. Zuko didn't have a choice; he had to train as much as he could or he wouldn't stand a chance.

"Fine?" Iroh repeated, his voice stern yet maintaining a gentle tone. "You can hardly get up! You haven't slept or eaten since boarding this ship and we'll be entering our third day at sea once dawn breaks. Please, I _beg _you. Take a break."

"You don't understand, Uncle." Zuko angrily shook his head and forced himself to his feet. He swayed a bit, but managed to keep his balance. "This is the only way I can regain my honor. If I fail to capture the Avatar, I'll never be able to return home. I'll never be heir to the throne again!"

Iroh fell silent and approached Zuko. Even though the banished prince was only thirteen, he was still a few inches taller than him.

"Well," whispered Iroh as he withdrew a small cloth from his robes. "Perhaps I don't understand. After all, I am not you." He reached up and pressed the cloth against Zuko's sweaty brow. Thankfully, Zuko closed his eyes and leaned into it.

"I'm sorry, Uncle. I'm just... I don't know. I'm angry."

"But why are you angry?"

"You know why I'm angry!" Zuko pulled away and moved to the safety rail of the ship. "I did this to myself," he whispered and gripped the rails tightly. "I was stupid and deserved this punishment... and I let people uninvolved suffer, too."

"Prince Zuko, I assure you that no one on this ship is suffering. I cannot speak for everyone, but I came of my own free will. No one asked me to and no one forced me to do so."

"You came out of duty."

"I came because I love you." Iroh reached for his nephew and firmly grasped his shoulders. "I did not agree with my brother's actions. In fact, I could not bear to watch them—and I have seen _war_."

"Uncle—"

"Zuko, _listen_. I do not think you have lost your honor. What you did during that war meeting _was _honorable. You showed a great deal of courage! You put your citizens first as a member of the Royal Family _should_. You stood your ground to protect innocent soldiers who would die far before the prime of their lives just for the sake of a surprise attack."

"It doesn't matter," said Zuko as he shook his head. "General Bujing is still going to carry out his plan. The Fire Nation will probably win the battle, but those soldiers..."

"Sometimes, we cannot change the actions of others. However, it is important to always stand up for what you believe in, even if it comes with a great personal risk. I know that when you stood up for those fresh recruits, I felt such a strong feeling of _proudness_ for you."

Zuko glanced uncertainly at his uncle. "You were... proud of me?"

"Of course!" Iroh smiled fondly as he returned to blotting Zuko with the cloth. "I knew you had made the right decision to stand up for those soldiers. Though had I known what the consequences of your actions were..."

"If I'd known, I wouldn't have said anything."

To Zuko's surprise, Iroh was still smiling. "I think you would have," he said. "You are a very empathetic person whether you want to believe it or not... and you would never allow someone to be unjustifiably hurt. Acting as live bait so the Fire Nation can kill others is not a justification. Deep in your heart, you will always know that."

"Uncle... Thank you."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Iroh gently. "Sweat in such cool night air will put you at risk for a cold."

Not even Zuko could keep a smile from forming at the humility of his uncle. "You're right. I didn't think of that."

Iroh pocketed the cloth and wrapped an arm around his nephew, pulling him close. "Let's get a midnight snack. How does that sound?"

Zuko nodded and allowed his uncle to guide him below deck. The metal halls still felt unfamiliar to him, especially the pipes lining the ceiling, but at least the red hue from the torches was familiar. He tried not to lean too heavily against Iroh as they walked through the hall, but his entire body was attempting to rebel even the mild shuffling of his feet.

"Uncle," said Zuko suddenly. "Why are you awake so late anyway?"

"Well, it's a little difficult to sleep when someone is jumping up and down right outside your room."

"You heard me?" After a short beat, he added, "Sorry."

"There is no need to apologize. I already took an afternoon nap so I'm far from tired. Ah! Here we are." Iroh led Zuko to one of the picnic style tables and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "What are you in the mood for?"

With great difficulty, Zuko swung a leg over the bench and sat down heavily. "What's my selection?"

"Well, let's see. The cook made komodo rhino sausages, boiled rice with a cabbage garnish, smoked sea slug and unfortunately, roasted komodo chicken."

"You don't like komodo chicken?"

"It's true that it is a rare delicacy, but it's just so _stretchy_."

"Stretchy..." Zuko had never thought of it that way. The taste was good, but the texture was terrible. Still, as an animal struggling to keep its population high, eating it was seen as a privilege and a luxury. He wondered why food meant for the upper class was on the ship carrying the Fire Nation's banished prince—until he realized the ship was also carrying his uncle who, while under a self-imposed banishment, was still royalty. Even then, however, it made little sense as his uncle just admitted to disliking komodo chicken.

For a long while, it was quiet. Even the humming emanating from the pipes, a constant noise of late, stopped.

"Having trouble keeping awake, Prince Zuko?"

Suddenly the humming noise returned and Zuko snapped his head up, startled, only to find that Iroh had already prepared a bowl of food for him. He rubbed the right side of his face, careful to avoid the tied cloth keeping his gauze in place and mumbled, "Sorry."

"If I had gone a few days without sleep, I would be nodding off, too." Iroh chuckled and Zuko hazily thought that it was because his uncle would never be caught going more than a day without sleep.

"Thank you for the food, Uncle," said Zuko, his voice now thick with traces of sleep as he took the bowl his uncle had made him and held it with both hands. It was warm, despite dinner having been hours ago. His uncle must have used firebending to heat it up. He couldn't help but think that if he'd tried to do the same thing Iroh had done, he'd either burn his hands or not produce enough heat. Just another scenario proving he obviously still had a long way to go with his firebending training.

Even so, he gratefully took the chopsticks and examined the food his uncle had prepared. A bowl of rice with a few pieces of komodo chicken. There was even a sauce—was it plum sauce?—that had been drizzled over the rice and chicken. He looked to his uncle, about to ask what the sauce was, when he saw Iroh had a bowl for himself.

"You didn't eat dinner yet, Uncle?"

"I did," announced Iroh, unashamed. "But as the stomach is the body's sea of chi, I like to keep it filled just in case."

Zuko wondered: _In case of what? _For as long as he'd known his uncle, Zuko couldn't clearly recall a time when his uncle had actually used firebending—apart from things like firebending tea and meals, but even then, fire wasn't used, just concentrated body heat. When he'd seen his uncle training new recruits, during sparring matches, Iroh would block his opponent's blasts of fire as he approached the target and disarmed them by breaking their root. Yet Iroh had killed the last dragon years ago. Surely his firebending was beautiful. Stunning. Fierce. It _had _to be and Zuko could only hope that someday his firebending would end up like that.

He could feel his eyes slipping shut again and this time felt his grip on the bowl slacken. The way the strip of gauze covered up his eye reminded him of nights when he wanted to stay up later with his mother but was too tired to actually do so. Ursa would cover both of his eyes with her hands and for some reason, after just a few moments, Zuko fell asleep every time and woke up the next morning in his own bed.

All he could do was rub at his good eye and try to eat his food as quickly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to faceplant in his food. Not only would it be embarrassing, but it would prove to his uncle and anyone else who happened to be watching that he wasn't strong. He knew that many soldiers from the Fire Nation went days without sleep. _Days_. He was struggling with just two and a half.

After what seemed like an eternity, Zuko placed the empty bowl on the table. As much as he hated to admit it, having food in his stomach again felt wonderful. If he weren't so tired, he felt like he could create his strongest fireball yet. Stronger than even Azula's.

Iroh stood and cleared away their plates, then motioned for Zuko to stand as well. "I think it's time for bed, Prince Zuko. Don't you agree?"

There was no point in trying to hide his tiredness anymore, so he simply nodded and untangled his legs from the bench. He was glad his room wasn't too far away. His legs, which felt like wobbly lead, were glad as well.

Together, Zuko and Iroh shuffled down the hallway and up the stairs of the command tower. The pipes above them continued to hum and offered an occasional _tink!_ sound, prompting Zuko to wonder if air was trapped in the pipes. The thought left his mind though the moment Iroh opened the door to his room for him. Despite how small his bed was, despite its lumps and hard mattress, despite its thin sheets, despite _everything_, Zuko was grateful for that bed at the moment.

It took a great deal of effort for Zuko to sit on the bed and peel off his armored vest, then to kick off his boots. When that was done, he finally lay on the bed and buried his face into his pillow.

"Goodnight, Uncle," mumbled Zuko, the pillow obscuring his words.

"Goodnight, Prince Zuko," Iroh returned as he pulled the blankets around his nephew's shoulders. "Pleasant dreams," he added, though Zuko was already sound asleep, his face completely relaxed for the first time since the day before his banishment.


End file.
